ARH2006: Meet Radioman: Marcel "Tou Tou" LaMarche!

Last night was our first read-through for the Armageddon Radio Hour. At one point, I laughed until I cried. It's the part where Jim, the recently returned World War 2 vet, snaps the neck of busy-body neighbor, Ms. Dorrit, just before a quiet dinner at home. The neck-snap, you see, comes out of no-where. Which is why it's particularly funny.

I have to confess that when I saw the sides that we read for the auditions, I was a little concerned about the script for the Radio show. In retrospect, I can see that a single page or half page of dialogue, read by nervous auditionees isn't the best reflection of the material. The same scenes that I thought were a little bland, are hilarious, when read by the final cast and performed within the context of the entire piece. It turns out that the material is actually stronger than I thought it was.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself at last night's read through. If we can capture half of the joy that we got out of reading that material, in the actual performance, we will have a hit show on our hands. Too bad that it only gets a single performance. Let's hope somebody tapes this program. It's going to be a good one.

One of the coolest things about this gig is that the director, Don, is encouraging the new cast members to divorce ourselves from the shells of the characters that we were cast in and discover our own characters. Originally, my characters name was Jeremy "JR" Riddle and he was sort of the doofus, corn-husker, knucklehead sidekick to the lead actor in the show. And while that might've suited the original actor in the show and, indeed, been appropriate to that show, it's less of a tight fit for me.

Here's a little recap of how I walked through the process of eventually finding my character, "Tou Tou" LaMarche.

In this years script, I've been cast to carry nearly 15 characters, each of them with their own interesting ethnicity or characterization. In this show alone, I play
All American Teenage Boy,
Lovable Irish Security Guard,
Nefarious Yiddish Jewelry Dealer,
Sassy French Head In a Box,
Pretentious St. Peter,
Tough As Nails GI,
Insidious Pharmacist & Poisoner
Blockhead Villain's Sidekick,
Limp-wristed Sandwich Seller,
Friendly Morgue Orderly,
All American Dad
and MANY, MANY more!

By sheer demands of the script, I've found myself playing the "Man of A Thousand Voices" type of radio actor. Actually, everyone in the cast has several characters, but not all of them make efforts to alter their voices. I take that as a character choice and a smart one. I see them as playing "radio personalities" with identifiable voices that you'll want to hear carried over from character to character. I see my character as being more utilitarian, filling in the rest of the world and for one reason or another, trying NOT to be identified in each role. My actor makes the world of the radio soundscapes sound bigger and populated by many people. I think that's his job.

So, I knew that he was a utility player and less of a personality type. An outside. A quiet guy. A "Man of 1,000 Voices" and a "Master Impressionist".

Additionally, I knew that he had a "partner" onstage. Played by Joanna Buese, the character of "Marlenka Marceau" is a sexy, Parisian character actress. Don already knew that she was French and had a bit in place where ALL of her characters would be in the same voice. With the same French dialect. It's a very funny bit.

We also knew from talking to Don, that she and I were paired up in some vague way. (There was a couple of young love leads, and a pair of old, tired, weathered performers and the host of the show and his divorcee wife. Everybody had somebody else to work with or against.) So, Marlenka and I were paired up.

I pulled Joanna aside and asked her if she'd given any thought to how she wanted to approach her character. She was pretty vague in what she'd prepared. Neither of us had any time to do any sort of character research. She knew that Marlenka would be a sexpot, probably. And that she was very cool and quiet and reserved. Don wants her to smoke black, European filterless cigarettes. (Different from anyone else in the show.) There was also some talk about her wearing a long, sexy, dark colored dress. She asked for something with open sleeves to highlight her unshaved underarms. (Tee hee. Take that Frenchies.)

We talked about the possible permutations of our relationship with one another. We could be...
Absolutely uninterested with one another.
Absolutely all over each other.
Quietly, subtly seducing each other, when no one is looking.
Unrequitedly In Love with one another.
Or one could be in love with the other, but the subject of their affection wasn't interested.
Or we could be absolutely OVER any sort of affection altogether.

I mentioned the possibility that perhaps, we're both European. Both Parisians, perhaps. And that we were lovers, in the cool, subtle, mysterious French way. That we had very relaxed morals and no problems with PDA. And perhaps that would give the other characters something to play with. They would be forced to be onstage with these two people who were all over each other. Being the 40s, the Americans would probably be pretty uptight about that sort of thing. So, that offered up a natural, logical conflict for everyone else to play off of. A gift for the other actors in the show.

Basically, Joanna and I would be overly affectionate with each other, during any scene that we weren't in. She was keen on the idea. We ran it by Don and he was pleased with all of it. He pointed out that we would be rocking a whole different type of relationship than any of the other couples. So, that was good too.

So, now I knew that I was a socially inappropriate, European, Voiceover artist and Master Impressionist, with a lover.

It was Joanna's idea that we were HUGE radio stars in some small European country. The "Burns and Allen of Romania" or something like that. So, they would come into this performance situation, thinking, "Hey, we're pretty hot shit! We're celebrities. These Americans are lucky to have us." Which lends itself to us playing slightly snotty Europeans, as well as informing our general mood within the show. I was down with that idea. I ran it by Don and he liked it too.

So, now I knew I was a snotty, European Radio Celebrity with a lover, who acted socially inappropriately and who also was a "Man of 1,000 Voices" and a "Master Impressionist"!

Which is pretty much the entirety of the character, as I see him. To make things match more logically, I've decided that the character is also French. I haven't had a chance to rock out my dynamic French dialect throughout an entire show before. This is going to be a fun challenge.

All last night, on my walk home, I tried out different names for the character, sampling every French name I could think of. Alec. Stephane. Pierre. Jean Claude. Jean Luc. Adrienne. Rene. Michele. Georges. Anything I could think of. I finally decided on Marcel. (Joanna's characters last name is Marceau. I like the symmetry of choosing the first name that compliments her last name.) I added a nickname, "Tou Tou", because it's undeniably French, but also because I liked the idea that other characters would have to say "tou tou" whenever they needed to address me. It's a silly, childish, vaguely scatalogical name. "Tou Tou" And I finally chose LaMarche as the last name as a tribute to noted voiceover artist, Maurice LaMarche. (You will know him as the voice of "The Brain" from Pinky & The Brain and Zoidberg from "Futurama".)

So, now I knew I was a snotty, European Radio Celebrity with a lover, who acted socially inappropriately and who also had a lover and who also was a "Man of 1,000 Voices" and a "Master Impressionist"!, and who was named Marcel "Tou Tou" LaMarche!

I later decided that he will probably wear a beret and have one of those pencil-thin John Waters moustaches. I will probably wear an ascot, too.

And that is how I discovered my character, after one read-through and a few short discussions with the director and my fellow actress. I've found something unique and interesting and exciting for me to play. I hope it translates over to the show. I'm very excited to give it a whirl!

Bon Jour,
"Tou Tou" LaMarche!

Ryan Gilmorre: Published Poet!

Hey all,

Let's give a big, fat, old cheer for Ryan Gilmorre, who is going to be published in the next issue of inch. Inch is a site that publishes VERY SHORT poems and VERY SHORT stories. Which isn't a bad idea. You get more variety for each issue that you pick up. (And if something that you're reading sucks, you know that it'll be over in a paragraph or two. So, that's good too.)

Anywho, the good folks at Inch have picked up a VERY SHORT poem from Mr.Gilmorre. And that's worth celebrating!

Ryan has stepped away from improv (mostly) to focus on his writing and I really, really admire that. He's got a tenacity for writing and for submitting his writing, that I can only admire. Sure, I crap out words on this webpage, but Ryan seeks out outlets for his words and gets them published. (He also had a short story picked up by some other 'zine, a few months ago.) I'm sure that he's had his fair share of rejection too, but he's still in there, slugging away. I genuinely believe that his work ethic is going to pay off for him. I genuinely believe that he's going to keep accumulating writing credits and good reputation and that this will lead him to the career path that he wants.

I'm proud as Hell for him, today. (Not enough to spell his name correctly, but still pretty proud nonetheless.) And I wanted to share that with you.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Clerks 2.

Clerks 2 releases tomorrow.

And you can either go buy it or rent it on DVD or watch this.

You should probably watch this.


(Jesus, I should get a show. I've been Mr.WatchThisClip,Everybody for like two days now.)

Cheers,
Mr.B

House-Managed!

I could tell that she was pissed by the way that she sat there, alone, in the center of the theater seats. The few stragglers from the 8pm show were huddled by the door, heading out. My team, International Stinger, was the third team to perform that night and as such, we got our notes after our set, from our coach. We'd killed. Just killed. I had a moment handed to me on a silver platter from Kgb that absolutely destroyed the audience. (Which says more about how generous a player she is than how clever I am.) Bob was in a great mood. The notes went well. I was in a great mood. And when I walked into the theater, feeling like Belushi in 1977, I ran into a rain cloud waiting for me. An angry house manager.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

"Sure, what's up?" I asked. I sat down next to her, feeling the thunder and lightning when a warm front crashes into a cold front and both refuse to give way. I thought, maybe a little bit of charm will diffuse the situation.

"When you guys are on box office, you're NOT supposed to leave the box office. You're supposed to have somebody in there, at all times. You can't leave the money unattended." The words were sharp and staccato. She'd been waiting for a bit, to chew me out. This was all a prepared speech.

"Okay, we didn't leave it unattended. Laura here," I helpfully pointed out Laura, who was watching the whole conversation, "covered for us, when we had to step away from the booth."

"Sorry, yeah. I was the one who brought you the money." Laura added helpfully.

"Okay," said the house manager, "I didn't know."

"No problem. As long as it got covered, right?" I was trying to brush this all off.

"Also, I have another note for you," she said, "Don't make fun of the house manager, when you're hosting. It looks un-professional."

"What do you mean, the bit about there being no music at the end? That part?" I was trying to remember a time when I really did grieve her about her house management. I thought that the whole night ran rather smoothly. There was a bit of dead air at the end of the show, but we played it for a few laughs and I thought it was relatively harmless. Apparently, she did not.

"Yes, that's EXACTLY what I mean. Don't make fun of me like that, ever again." and THIS was where all of the anger came from.

"Look, that was all just bits. Don't take it seriously. It happened, I joked about it, but it was no big deal."

"I think it was a big deal."

"Well, I don't," I countered. I felt angry, to be dragged into this discussion like this. Her personal issues were overwhelming her judgement and she was mis-using her authority at the theater to turn it into a professionalism issue. When it very clearly was not. I felt myself getting angry. "Listen, I was just joking with you, just like I would joke with anyone else. You need to let this go."

"It was insulting. I was insulted by it."

"Well, you're choosing to be. I'm telling you what my intentions were and insulting you was no part of it." God, please let this go. I can't be more clear than that.

"But, that's how I felt." she stated. Face red and angry. Refusing to let this go.

"Well, I guess everything around here is ran by the whims of HOW YOU FEEL, isn't it?" And I got up, walking away from her and her idiocy. Everyone standing there was shocked by the whole ugly little spat. They heard her trying to trump up negligence in the Box Office as a point to back up an unrelated argument. And there were all keenly aware that she was broadcasting her own insecurities and trying to turn them into something that she could officially chastise me for. It was so obvious and ugly, that nobody talked. We all just walked out, in silence. I checked the last trashcans and dumped the last of the trash, mumbling obscenities under my breath. I left without saying anything further to her.

Was I wrong not to just "shut up" and apologize, when I'd done no wrong?
Was it wrong not to accept and justify her anger and give it the proper deference?

I don't know. I can't say. At the time, I couldn't allow myself to get dragged into a pointless and stupid argument over nothing. At the time, it was so clear to me that her feelings were hurt and she was determined to hurt mine, too. Childish? Yes. But all too human.

The truth is, I am sorry that she got her feelings hurt. I'm also sorry that she chose to sit around and stew about it, looking for other things to write us up about. I'm sorry that she was so stubborn to hold onto her offense, that she couldn't see lack of hostility, until it became what she was looking for: actual hostility.

Dames, ya can't live with 'em. Ya can't cut off their oxygen supplies until they pass out, either!

Cheers,
Mr,B

The Longest Day Ever.

HOLY CHRIST!

This is the longest day EVER, in recorded history.
This day is NEVER going to end.

I am already bored and I've fallen asleep at my desk two or three times already.

Sure, there's work for me to do, but I JUST DONT FEEL LIKE DOING ANY OF IT!

I got in bed late last night. And the cuh-rayzee weekend completely screwed up my sleeping habits, so I have trouble falling asleep between midnight and 1am. And I have trouble getting up in the mornings.

I keep looking over at my clock on my phone and see that only two or three minutes have passed, each time. I think that time is actually moving backwards, just to piss me off.

Get me the fuck out of here! Take me to some place where I can take a nap and then fart around at work for a few hours. Because THIS sucks...

Faling asleep at the wheel.
Mr.B

South Parks World of Warcraft episode.

You've seen this, right? Tell me you've seen this.

No?

Well, then watch this.



Fucking Brilliant.

Thank me later.
Mr.B

A few videos, per request...

My friend, L.C., asked me to post this here for her. It's the newest trailer for Spiderman 3, posted on Youtube.



For a slightly better download of the same thing, you can go here.

Looks pretty good, eh? May 4th, 2007.

This, by the way, is my home pc desktop.

Can you tell that I'm excited to see this particular film?

Hey, to reward you for reading all of this silliness about Spiderman 3, lemme leave you with one more little clip. Check it out...



Cheers,
Mr,B

Check this Out: Retro Futurism by Baron Margo!

The recent post about Peter Callesen reminded me of someone else that I wanted to introduce you guys to. Meet artist, Baron Margo. (Pictured there with two robot sculptures on sale.)


Baron lives in California and he's a very talented artist. He constructs art, furniture, lamps and working cars, that all hint at retro futurism. You know, how current times were supposed to look, as imagined by the science fiction artists of the 1930s and 40s. Yeah, well, we don't exactly have personal rocket packs these days. But that doesn't stop Baron from creating his own rocket car.

I know. Cool as Hell, isn't it?

Baron is also designs and builds his "rocket lamps". each one plugs into a regular wall socket and runs off of standard power supplies. My personal favorite is below. (It reminds me of the rocket that Jack Knight used to explore space, rescuing Michael, the 1980's Starman. And you have to be pretty fucking cool to get that reference.)



Can you imagine that bad boy, sitting on your desk, and when it gets too dark, you absent-mindedly turn on your rocket lamp and then keep working on whatever you're working on. I love it. (If you're looking for a last minute gift idea and have over $1,000 to spend, I'd love one of his rocket lamps. Thankyouverymuch.)

Anyways, Baron is amazing. I found him accidentally, researching retro-futuristic designs and have been a fan since then. Now you can be one too. You can learn more about him by visiting his website, here.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Check This Out: Paper Cuts by Peter Callesen

The IT guy from work passed this link onto me. It's a website talking about Peter Callesen, an amazing artist, who uses paper, intricately cut to make 3 dimensional tableaus. He draws direct connections between the paper constructions and the space that they used to occupy in the paper, having them relate to one another. This takes a level of patience, planning and precise execution that the rest of us can only be amazed by.

I'm going to resist the urge to repost several of the pictures of his art on this blog. Instead, I'll just post the single image below. Which is what you see when you go to the first page of his website. Dig a little deeper into his website and you'll see some AMAZING things in there.

I'll shut up and get out of the way, so that you can get down to the business of being impressed.

Enjoy.

Cheers,
Mr.B



(This pic is posted without the authors permission. If he stumbles onto this and objects to the post, please post a comment below and I'll alter the post appropriately. Thanks, Mr.B)

A Quick Shout Out to a Friend!

Hello to Mackenzie in Phoenix, who reads this blog, even if I don't know it! I'm glad to have you here, poking around!

Cheers,
Mr.B

Thanksgiving 2006: A Recap.

First of all, let me say that I CAN'T BELIEVE that I am back at FUCKING work, the day after FUCKING Thanksgiving. Which I normally have off, but because some big, bad bank bought my company, is NOW a working day. I am filled with a low, abiding rage that I've tried to suppress with an orange juice and a sausage, egg and cheese croissant from Dunkin Donuts. I can feel the rage being pushed back by the sausagey, cheesey, eggy goodness, but this is going to be the LONGEST DAY AT WORK. Ever.

And being at work today, is made even worse, because being off yesterday was as good as it was. Probably one of my favorite Thanksgivings, in a long, long time.

Here's the recap:

Technically, the Thanksgiving holiday started on Wednesday, when the office closed at 3pm. Oh sure, some poor bastards CHOSE to work late, but when 3pm came, I was out the door as fast as I could go. (Last year, when we had the early, pre-holiday closing, I got a TON of work handed to me at 3:30, by other people who were rushing out the door. I ended up working until 6pm. I learned my lesson. I ditched as soon as I could.) If there was late work for me to do, my procrastinating co-workers had to do it for themselves.

I picked up a Subway sandwich at the Montrose station and then picked up my laundry on the walk home. (I'm slowly turning back the tide against the mountain of laundry that used to dominate my bedroom.) I got home and ate dinner with the dog, watched some tv and then she and I settled down for a much-needed nap. Hendo called and woke me up, to give me the run down of the Turkey Day menu. Everything sounded delicious. I thanked him and went back to napping with the pooch.

I woke up later in the evening to an empty apartment. Joe was in the suburbs, working at the theater, and I knew that he would actually be spending the night with our friends, The Kids. (Everyone that I know, calls John, Vicky, Tresa, Elsie, Pete and Justin, The Kids. Or sometimes The Kids from Carbondale. Where they all met at college. They're all really good friends of mine that I don't see as much as I would like to. We all keep very busy schedules. Major holidays are spent with them, though. I have a lot of happy memories of holidays spent with The Kids.) So, I knew I would be home alone on Wednesday night.

I celebrated that with nearly two hours of City of Heroes and then passed out, in bed, out of exhaustion.

Thursday, I slept late, which was nice. I knew that there was the Macy's Day parade was on, but since I'm not 12 anymore, I decided to skip it. I intentionally avoided eating anything, all day long, knowing that I would have a big meal at Hendos. I killed the morning hours, playing a little more COH. Good times, smashing robots and fighting street gangs.

I showered and dressed. Hendo had advised me NOT to wear anything too formal. But to dress comfortably. I wore my "I Got Wood" t-shirt and some comfy Carhartz, over to his place. I noted on the cab ride over that the streets of Chicago were pretty much devoid of car and pedestrian. Which made me want to wander the streets all that much more. I don't see my city emptied out very often. It always strikes me as such a pretty town, when the people are all gone. Like the city is holding it's breath, for a day.

As promised, the spread of food at Hendo's was delicious. Hendo had made his first turkey. His cooking method, something to do with a broth, was spot on and the turkey was as moist and as flavorful as you could possibly want it to be. In addition, everything else in the spread was just as good. The mashed potatoes were salty and light. The casserole was appropriately green-beany. And the stuffing was also delicious. Hendo promised a grand Turkey Day meal and he didn't lie. It was all good. He also had wine prepped for us and I sipped a very nice Riesling for the rest of the evening. Got a bit tipsy too.











And because it was Thanksgiving, we discussed threesomes (the one I had, the one I failed to secure), Mark admitted to having a tiny wiener and later, tried to stab me with a sword.

I wish I could say that anything in that last sentence was a bit, but they all happened.

Later, after the food had digested and we'd all enjoyed a slice of pie together, I caught a cab over to The Kids place, with Speedy. I dropped her off on the way over. I was sure to thank Speedy for the great dinner conversation and for confirming to Hendo, that I am packing a giant wiener. You can't ask for a better ex-girlfriend, folks.

When I got to The Kids House, things had been progressing for hours already. In the living room, a couple of people that I didn't know were playing duet Guitar Hero on John's gigantic tv screen. In the backroom, Joe and Lee and Elsie and Derek were all playing a marathon game of Magic: The Gathering. All the other women in the house were walking around them, rolling their eyes. A bunch of bored girls? I'm in heaven!

I was in the kitchen, pouring a jack and coke, when Cassie came through, wearing a bikini and asked me if I was going to get into the Hot Tub, soon?

A hot tub?
A hot tub, you say?
There's a hot tub at this Thanksgiving Day celebration?
Glory Be, a hot tub!

Sure enough, I went out back and was very pleased to see that John's hot tub was not only running, but it was cycling through an amazing light display and had a full stereo of music playing. I was so happy that I almost cried. I wanted to be drunk and in that hot tub with as many women as I could get in there with me.

I was instructed to head upstairs and shower before I got in the hot tub (to remove oils and perfumes and whatnot). I was cool with that. If there was any weirdness about showering quickly at someone else's house, I got over it pretty quickly. I nearly raced downstairs to meet up with everyone.

One of my friends, "T" called me upstairs and she and "Dre" and I, got our attitudes adjusted, chemically. Thank God for that. I didn't want to enter the hot tub SOBER! While we sat there, the girls talked about how they were both "in heat" and "ready for some action". I knew that I wasn't going to be the guy to give it to them, but I didn't mind hearing about it. We also rubbed each others legs. They showed off how cleanly shaved they were and I showed off how cleanly shaved, I wasn't!

Off to the hot tub. On my way through the house, I stopped at every bored girl that I ran into and said, "You know, a bunch of us are hitting the hot tub, it would be good to see you there!"

By the time that I actually clambered into the bubbly, hot, churning mass of water, it was me, Pete, Dre, Tresa, Cassie and Elsie. 4 girls, 2 guys. So, the quotient was JUST ABOUT RIGHT. If I weren't friends with all of them, I would tried to make out with each and every one of them. I did enjoy all the bikini goodness. Nice.

I eased back into the deepest chair on one side and listened to the music and the jokes. I thanked Tresa for having the hot tub and having it hooked up, nearly two dozen times. I let the jets of hot water massage my back for at least an hour. I looked up and saw the clouds moving overhead. The outside temperature was 70 degrees. A perfect night for hot-tubbing with friends.

And there's where I'll leave the story, friends. Afterwards, some other things happened and I talked to old friends on the phone and eventually went home to sleep next to a sleepy, sleepy dog. But my heart is back there in that hot tub, stoned, drunk and reveling in the relaxing comfort of it all, quietly singing a Dave Matthews song to myself. As content as I've been in a very long time.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Blown Apart.

I haven't listened to this CD in a while, but these lyrics are stuck in my head on auto-repeat, playing over and over again. There's a message coming through...

"And she said losing love
Is like a window in your heart.
Everybody sees you're blown apart.
Everybody sees the wind blow."
Paul Simon, Graceland.

Yes, it is. Isn't it?
Yes, they do. Don't they?

Happy Thanksgiving, 2006!

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time to stop and reflect upon the things in our lives that we're thankful for. And in this blog entry, I thought I'd do just that and express my gratitude for something that really matters to me...

Girls Kissing Other Girls.

If you're one of those special ladies who has ever felt the urge and acted upon it, to deep french kiss another girl, I want to thank you for that. On this special day, let's talk a little bit about this important feature of the bar social scene and revel in it, a little bit.

Not only is a good, deep, long girl-on-girl kiss, a healthy expression of a woman's appreciation for another woman but it's also fun for parties and other social gatherings. Nobody assumes that because you're making out with your drunk friend, that you're going to go down on her in the ladies room. (Although, these ladies did just that. No pressure. I'm just sayin'.) We, Happy Spectators, know that you're just "havin' some fun". And we encourage that. Because later, when we're alone, we'll masturbate vigorously to that mental image. (Assuming that our own alcoholic consumption didn't wash it clean away.)

Good, clean fun for you.
Dirty, nasty spank material for us.
That's a win-win situation right there!

There's a double-standard carried on in our society. A time-honored tradition that is so revered, that it's rarely ever spoken about. Ladies, it's okay for you tongue-joust with your lady-friends. But it's absolutely forbidden for me and my male buddy to do the same. Good for you. Bad for me. And that's a good thing! Enjoy this privilege which is yours and yours alone. So many other social doors are barred to you (presidency, most business management positions, cowboys), that you should make use of the things that are just for you!

This is one of those GOOD double-standards! Enjoy it!

On this Thanksgiving, I want to give a special "THANK YOU" to all the little ladies and their mohitos and the amazing things that they will do to each other, in front of us, in our bars.

Thanks, ladies!

And now, a musical montage of precisely what I'm talking about...


And Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Mr.B

Check out this Chicago Story!

Madge Hixx posted something cool over on her blog, which I would like to direct your attention to.

Check it out

Bookmark her blog. If you aren't checking it daily, you're missing out on some fine reading.

Thank Me Later!

Cheers,
Mr.B

//An Open Letter to The Ladies...

Dear Ladies of the Blogosphere,

Hello.

My name is Dr. Ranjit Parnamahran.

I am a Licensed Sexologist. I have a Masters Degree in Sexology from the University of Cairo. I have a clinic, here in Chicago, Il, to treat all of your Sexology needs.

Is your sex lifeless and dull?
Do you wish that your sex was more exciting and fun?
Do you find yourself, during the sex, wishing you were somewhere else?
Does your lovers find himself wishing that you were someone else?

You may be suffering from Sexual Fatigue. An ailment common to womens who are not educated in the techniques of Sexology. Sexual Fatigue, aka "S.F." strikes down nine out of ten women between the ages of 16 and 65. It is more common that rickets or the shingles.

DON'T let this happen TO YOU!

Contact me, by using the telephone, and I, Dr. Parnamahran will make a special house visit to your house and treat you for S.F. Using ancient methods of Sexology, taught to me by the Sexology Masters of Cairo, I will release your pressure points, clean out your chakras and relign your chi, exposing you to a world of exciting and stimulating orgamsic convulsions. My hands will make the magic all over your body!

And the best part is, if you like it, I will come again and again!

Listen to what these happy customers had to say!

"The sex was terrible for me. I was not very good at it. It made me weep. Then, Dr. Parnamahran visit me and show me his techniques of Sexology. Now, I have lots of sex and it is very thrilling and wonderful. All the time! Really!"
-Sankpur Kanjitamani

"My penis is happy! I make the Sexology at home, by myself, all of the time. i regret nothing!"-Akhbar Sanjatawali

I am trained and licensed to use Sexology to treat the following ailments:

Over-sexualization
Performance Anxiety
Disobedience
Frigid Wife
Reluctant Daughter
Superfluous Mammary
Latent Lesbianism
Vaginal Cramping
Fatty Thighs
Oral Fixation
Manual Palsy
Limp Nipple
Anal Torsion
Ass-Chafing
Nymphomania Breast Tension
Full-Body Siezures
"The Republicans Complaint"

Also, for the month of NOVEMBER, I am offering a special "Mother/ Duaghter Discounted Fee." Bring your over-16 daughter for Sexological treatment and I will do you and then HER for FREE!

There is no excuse for being terrible at The Sex, with a licensed Sexologist in town!

Call me at (773)-069-6969.
Or email me at "stickymoustache1756@bustythings.com".

You NEED me to help you!

Dr. Ranjit Parnamahran
Licensed Sexologist* & Marriage Counselor.
Madison Medical Center
2354 Highway 327
St. Charles, IL. 60684





*(in the state of Utah.)

A Message to My Future Kids...

I was just thinking about this dumb old blog and how the theory in practice is that this information, these words, will be archived permanently on the interwebz somewhere.

For. Ev. Er.

And. Ever.

Amen.

And how my kids, when and if I have them, will be able to look back on this and see who I was and what I was talking about, before they were ever born.

What a strange experience that must be. My dad never kept journals or anything like that. The small clues I have about him, before I was born, comes from pictures and stories that the family tells. An oral history.

But my kids can come here and read as much or as little as they want to, diving deeper and deeper into my personality, if they so choose.

I wonder if I'll tell them that this material is all here.
Or will it be such common knowledge that they won't even care anymore.
Will I even keep this thing, then?

I dunno.

It'll be interesting to see how this all shakes out.

Mr.B

PS. Kids, if I did have you and you are reading this, ignore all the times that Dad says, "Fuck" in this thing. It's rude and innapropriate when I do and it's like 10,000 times worse when YOU guys do it. Listen to old-me on this one. Young-me is a bit of a jerk.

Also, brush your teeth. It's more important than you know.

Also, Do your homework.

Also, Didn't Daddy look handsome when he had (some) hair?

Also, Daddy was not and is not gay. Uncle Mark just likes to throw that around, because he wants to make whoopee with Daddy. Just ignore that stuff.

Forged in Fire...

What a crazy weekend. So many highs and lows. So many extremes. Let me tell you about some of them.

As you can imagine, Friday was effing terrible. I tied up the last few loose ends with my recent ex and went home for a lonely night in. I watched a sad movie and that was cathartic. It opened up all of the ugly wounds and I cried like a fool. Those deep, convulsive, wracking cries. Just horrible. My heart was breaking. The dog, she left the room, sick of it.
But as bad as that was, it really helped me to work out some of this. And like throwing up, as soon as it was done, I felt better. I know that there will be some scary moments ahead of me, dealing with losing this person. I know that sometimes it'll sneak up on me in a back alley and I'll be freshly hurt all over again. But for now, I've had some release, so that was good. I guess.

Saturday, a new friend woke me up and demanded that I get dressed and come to lunch. It was cold and drizzly outside, which matched the way that I felt, inside. But my new friend wasn't having any of it. She kept things light. We didn't talk about the break-up at all. Mainly, she talked and I listened. She spotted a friend, who joined us for lunch and they talked and I enjoyed a sinfully good cheeseburger.
At the end of lunch, we visited her house and she picked up some things to take to the cleaners. I tagged along, with nothing better to do.
It was her idea to go buy gin and tonic. And we did. We came home and met Joe and our friend, Elsie. We all drank gin and tonics and played Yahtzee. I stomped them, people. On our second game, I got three separate Yahtzees. Joe just got up, ripped his scoresheet to shreds and went outside for a smoke. It was hilarious.
My new friend boogied on out, for dinner with some other folks. But before she left, I hugged her and thanked her for the support. People have been so supportive this weekend, calling and offering to take me out. And I've been resistant to almost all of them. I feel guilty for accepting help for something dumb, like this. But this new friend was so insistent and she turned out to be right. She turned the whole weekend around and I was and am, grateful. She's a funny gal.

(And before you ask, there's nothing going on there. She fancies a pal of mine. I hope she gets him. They would make a good couple. Let's hope he figures that out soon and pursues her. They both deserve to be happy.)

Saturday night, I hooked up City of Heroes on my computer, again. After a 5 1/2 month absence. So much had changed in-game. I love it, though. I've enjoyed my time back in the game. I tried out almost all of my characters, once I got back in and had a blast with them. I can't wait to give old, Captain Space, a test run again. He's my level 32 character (the highest I've ever had.) Playing him is like taking a new corvette out for a weekend drive on a cool, sunny, Spring day. With the sun-roof down. Smooth. Elegant. Powerful. You can see why I've been saving him for a drive. I'm sure that'll happen, later this week.

I slept in today and that felt good. My bedroom has been very, very cold lately. That's what I get for waiting until NOVEMBER to pull my air conditioning unit out of the window. (Took care of that tonight, by the way. I expect to sleep better, this evening.)

I played a little COH today and then got ready for my 2:30 audition. I'm auditioning for a 1940s style New Years Eve radio show. The concept appeals to me, endlessly. I've always been in love with that era. Love the look of the time. Love the un-self conscious goofiness of the era. Love it all.

I think I had a GREAT audition. The auditors were happy to see me there and were just nice as could be, to me. I felt ridiculously comfortable there with them. And I got laughs on my song choice and on most of my readings. (Which is unusual. I'm usually a terrible auditionee. My hands shake and I feel the pressure.)I walked out of this audition thinking, "I literally could not have done any better." I just hoped that it was what they were looking for.

Rehearsal with Stinger was really wonderful. It was one of those rehearsals where everyone is in a great mood and is willing to try ANYTHING. I threw out wild, crazy initiations and they ran with them. I didn't feel any dampers on me at all. And once the team took an idea from me and ran with it, we came up with some brilliant scenes. I think we could've charged an audience to watch us rehearse. It was that smart. I felt like I couldn't do anything wrong out there and I feel 100% that it's because of my excellent team, that I felt that. They're rockstars. It was one of those rehearsals that ends WAY too early.

At rehearsal, I got the call from the 1940s show producer. I got cast. I'll be playing the "big, knucklehead comedic character." I'll be doing dialects aplenty. (Which is fine by me. I LOVE doing big, fat, ridiculous dialects.) I also have a love interest in the show. A sexy French gal. Which is funny. I never "get the girl" in shows. That'll be exploring new territory onstage. I look forward to working with this young lady to make the experience a pleasure for us both. (I vaguely know her and already like her. Hopefully that'll all work to our advantage onstage.)

Yes, so that was a huge high, getting that part. The first show that I've auditioned for since college, really. And I got it. So, that was A LITTLE BIT of an ego boost. (You can start sucking up to me now, to get my single comp ticket. Assuming that you don't have New Years Eve plans and are in the Chicago metro area. Sorry, Bran. You'd be my first pick, otherwise!)

Tonight, I came home and enjoyed a quiet dinner alone, watching "Harry Potter 4: This Shit's Magical!" on HBO. I played a little COH, killing many robots, so THAT was fun. Eventually, I checked email and then started this blog entry.

I wanted to capture here that the weekend was an odd one for me. Started off very, very bad for me. Just fucking terrible. The worst. And then someone made it better and then someone else made it even better. And then my teammates, my wonderful teammates made it even better than that and then I got cast in a show and now, now, I finally sign off and bid you a Good Night and Sweet Dreams.

For those of you who said, "It will be okay," just know that you were right. And for now, it is okay.

Laying Head to Pillow,
Mr.B

PS. Joe has just informed me that a friend of ours is going to come clean our kitchen and bathroom, next weekend. IN HER UNDERWEAR. I didn't catch the specifics of how he brokered that deal, but that's the end result. Sexy gal in my kitchen, washing Joe's dirty dishes. For a very reasonable price.
Me? I remain skeptical. I'll believe it when I see it. And if it DOES happen and she DOES come clean our apartment in her skivvies, I'll be the first to thank her, opened beer in hand.
I hope she does good work, mopping. Our floors need a good mopping.


(Oh yes, this picture is absolutely autobiographical. Superman walking through a scorching, blazing Hell to emerge stronger on the other side. Yes. This is how I feel right now.)

Leaving.

I'm not certain whether she has clocked out on me or if I am giving up, but the end result is the same. I'm not going to keep fighting to prove that I am worth her time and attention.

I'm done.
I'm out.

Being alone is better than being ignored.

Last Night? Something Different.

Last night, I agreed on a whim, to go hang out with my new friend, Megan and her gaggle of ladyfriends. Megan has been inviting me out to the Wednesday Night Burgers at Jury's with her friends, for weeks now. But I wasn't sure what her intentions were and I'm also sort of retarded about hanging out with people that I don't know. So, I've made excuses not to go, every week.

Last night, however, I just decided, "Eh, what the hell? Why not go out and hang out with some new folks?" Plus, I really like the burgers at Jury's.

Well, schedules got mixed up and I missed them at Jury's. I got home too late to join them. I texted Megan my apologies and went home for a quiet night, home alone with the dog. She texted me back and invited me out to some "dive bar" with her and her "girlfriends". The idea of being the one dude in a gaggle of slightly intoxicated ladies was too irresistible. I hopped a cab and joined them at the little dive bar at the corner of Damen and Foster.

And yes, because I was the one boy (for a while, a few others joined us later) I DID get tons of attention from these girls, initially. Mary (the chain-smoker in the corner), Mallory (who reminded me a little bit of Julia Roberts, only with Tina Fey glasses) and her sister, Shelby (who reminded me a bit of Mallory, only without glasses and also they don't really look alike anymore). And my friend Megan, who, as it turns out, is just one of those really friendly people who likes meeting new people. So, I wasn't having any moves made on me and that relaxed me considerably.

I don't spent a whole lot of time hanging out with people who are not already in my social circles. I think it's the lazy part of my personality. Or maybe I really am not that comfortable around new people. Whatever the reason, I can't remember the last time I was in A.) a new bar that I've never been to before with B.) An entire social circle of people who all knew each other and only one of them, knew me. It's just an exceptionally rare occasion.

In the end, I had a great time with them. I ended up talking with pretty much everyone. Mary confided workplace gossip in me (and the other girls). Megan and I talked at length about two improviser friends of ours, that we both really like. Shelby and I didn't talk too much. I hear she's typically a pretty quiet person. And Mallory got out her ipod and played her favorite artist, Regina Spektor, for me. She skipped from song to song, giving me a tour of Ms.Spektor's work.

And there, in the bar, listening to this very, very talented Russian-American pianist sing her love ballads, isolated from the bars' jukebox music and the conversations that were flowing around me, observing these strangers laughing and drinking and gesturing wildly with their hands, and ash their cigarettes, I felt welcomed and comfortable and was genuinely happy to be there.

Last night, I took a step outside of my usual, comfortable circle and it turned out to be a really good decision.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go research Regina Spektor cds.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Burn THESE!!!

In the interest of exposing you to cool shit that you might not've otherwise noticed, allow me to focus some attention on this cool-ass Chicago independent business.

The lads at 5inch are selling pre-printed blank CDRs. (You know, the blank CDs that you might burn me a compilation of music on - hint hint!)

The prices are pretty affordable. A 10 pack of your favorite disk design is available for $12.25. A 25 pack will run you back $27.50. And that's pretty comparable to what you'd pay at Best Buy for a bunch of blank disks. (EXCEPT these blank disks look cool as hell!!!)

For the indecisive crowd, you can also get a Mix-n-match package of your favorite designs. OR pick up the 50 pack, which offers one of EVERY design.

Me? I personally groove on a few particular designs.

I like the Discoball.


And the Record Album.


And the Cassette disk.


And the Horoscope is cool, too.


I'll probably choose the Mix-n-Match pack and get a few of the above designs, as well as the HEART design (for when I mix up some of Patented Sexual Volcano Panty-dropper Make-Out CDs). If you actually buy some, post a comment and lemme know what you got.

And of course, I have no affiliation with 5inch or any of their employees. I get no sort of cut, if you actually buy these disks. A friend of mine mentioned the site on a message board and I thought I'd pass it onto you.

Cheers,
Mr.B

What I'm Shoving In My Ears These Days.

Last night was a good night in the old homestead. Using a friend's advice, I reset my ancient ipod mini and got it working again, after a month of being dead to the world. I held down the MENU button and the center button until it blinked to life and all was good in the world, again. I jammed it into it's cradle and opened it in Itunes and low and behold, all music was still there, where I left it.

So, while I was in Itunes, I did a little shopping around for some music.

I really dug that piano rif that begins the trailer for "Stranger Than Fiction". According to the movie soundtrack, that's "The Way We Get By", by Spoon.
DOWNLOADED THAT!

(I also listened to the three other Spoon tracks on that disk and I like them, too. I might have to download their whole disk. Those kids are all right, if you ask me! I also welcome burned CDs of their music, if someone was inclined to make one for me - wink wink!)

There's a car commercial that uses "Mad World" pretty effectively and I went ahead and looked up a version of that. I really like Michael Andrews version of the song and found it on the Donnie Darko CD.
DOWNLOADED THAT!

While I was feeling a little melancholy, I remembered that I didn't have a very good version of "Leaving On a Jet Plane." (A song that I referenced in THIS blog entry.) I found the well known version by Peter, Paul & Mary on their Greatest Hits CD. Heart-breaking.
DOWNLOADED THAT!

Speaking of riffs that you can barely identify, I was recently thinking about the Art Institute montage from Ferris Buellers Day Off and wanted the music from that. Did a little bit of digging around on IMDB and found out that it's called "Please, please, please, let me get what I want" by The Smiths.
DOWNLOADED THAT!

I also downloaded a few tracks for my Open Court, Pre-Show MegaMix! I like for that to be upbeat, snappy and chockful of recognizable songs that the waiting audience can sing along to, while they wait for the show to begin.

"Time Warp" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show?
DOWNLOADED THAT!

"Rock the Casbah" by The Clash
DOWNLOADED THAT!

And finally, I sent my bittorrent downloader scouring the available files to find copies of H oward S tern's radio show from S irius. I admit it. He makes me laugh. I used to regularly download the shows and listen to them on the train ride into work. A single show would last me an entire week. I found three shows from November, almost immediately. They should be downloaded when I get home tonight.
I should have his familiar voice back in my ears, by tomorrow morning.

BABA BOOEY! BABA BOOEY!

Think back to your childhood, when you first discovered music and and sought out artists that you liked and wanted to listen to. I grew up in the cassette era. I used to make tons of mix-tapes to give to girls and friends and girlfriends. I took such precise care to time them and fit as much music as I could on each disk. I was so dedicated to drawing original art on the cover sleeves, along with song titles and artists.
I remember discovering cassette singles, which was an economical way to get the songs that I wanted, without having to buy whole disks. I can also remember having to buy entire cassettes for just a single song.. (Bought an entire Pink Floyd disk, when all I wanted was "Learning to Fly.")
It wasn't until I moved to Chicago in 2000, that someone burned me my first CD. A Queen compilation that had all the Queen songs that I wanted on a single disk. (A birthday present.) I still have that bad-boy.

It just seems as if we've come such a long way, since I was a kid, technologically speaking. My PC has opened up worlds to me. Consider the ease with which I acquire music. If I see an actress on tv that I think is cute, I can Google her and if she's naked, oogle her. If I want to know about a movie, I check IMDB. If I want to know about anything else, I hit the Wikipedia. (So long Encyclopedias!)I can order pizza online. I can pay my bills online. I can order t-shirts. Or design my own. Or write friends. Or invite people to parties. Or play games. Or access a Google Satellite and zoom in on my parents house, in far away Kentucky.

It never used to be this easy. I can't wait to see where we go from here.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Two Years As A Part-Time Dad.

In college, I dated a girl who was a few years older than me. Her name was Kelly.

I was 22. She was 27.
She was recently divorced from her first husband. They'd married five years before, when she was just 22. They'd dated all through college and I got the impression that she loved him, despite the fact that he wasn't a very bright guy. (She was a pretty bright gal.) She was a drama teacher at the local high school. We met when her school rented the theater where I worked for their annual musical. She and I spent two weeks together, working on their show.

She had short hair, in what they call a "pixie" haircut. It was black and she was just getting her first bits of salt and pepper in there. She also had a broad smile and the whitest teeth I think I've ever seen on a human being. Her eyes were blue. She liked country music. And Ayn Rand books. And she got me to read "The Notebook" and showed me "Pippin" for the first time. (I cried at the finale. It resonated with where I was, in my life.)

She also had a little boy.

His name was Owen. When I knew him, he was three years old. He loved Blues Clues and throwing sticks in his backyard and playing on his mom's computer (Reader Rabbit was his game of choice.) He liked to wrestle with me and Squoosh my cheeks when I puffed them out. He was a good eater and a generally happy kid. He would disappear into his bedroom for hours, playing with his toys. And for the two years that I knew him, he slept with his mom, every single night. He was, after all, three.

I last saw him one summer in 1999. He'd just turned 4. Which would mean that he's now 10 years old, out in the world somewhere. He likely has very little memory of me, at all. (As it should be.) I can't remember the last time that I saw him.

I started out this entry to tell you two short stories about when I was around him and guessed some parenting stuff correctly. But this has sort of devolved into a sad remembrance of the kid that I once knew and will never see again. Let me leave that stuff for a bit and tell you the two stories.

A Bad Rash.
Owen was in a terrible mood.

He'd been cranky and squirmy and pouty all night long. His mom and I were curled up on the couch, watching TV with him and he didn't want any part of it. The computer didn't make him happy. He didn't want food. He was just miserable.

Earlier that evening, quite out of character for himself, he'd wet his pants. At the time, he was transitioning from diapers to big-boy underpants and Owen whizzing in the bathroom was a big deal for us all. He'd sometimes call us in and we'd watch him wee and we would both celebrate and cheer for him. Other time he would do it privately and then come share the story with us. His mom bought him some floating targets, that he could aim for. The pee stream broke them up and they would flush down, harmlessly. Truth be told, I used them once, when no one was around. Just for the fun of it.

So, Owen wetting his pants was a surprise for us all. And he was embarrassed by it too, we could tell. We attributed his foul mood to that.

He came up to us on the couch and said, "My legs are hurting," and began that really deep, committed cry that children can undertake, when they know it's okay to "let it all out." His mom pulled him up on the couch and pulled down his pants and yes, indeed, his legs were a shade of red, running down to his knees.

Well, she panicked. She was sure that he was having an allergic reaction to something. She ran and got the phone and began looking for the pediatricians number. Owen quit crying and laid on the couch with me, watching his mom have a hissy fit.

She came to me (the one non-parent in the house) deeply upset. "What do we do?" she asked. "What could he have gotten into? It's all over his legs."

"Well, didn't he pee himself a while back?" I asked.

"Yeah, but I helped him clean himself and we caught it pretty quickly."

"This looks to me, like he's just got a wee rash from the pee. Let's give him a bath and see what happens. IF it's still hurting him and still red when he gets out, we'll call the doctor." I carried him to the bathroom. A tiny, wiggly human being who was thrilled by the idea of a surprise bath.
The one thing that Owen did considerably better than peeing, was bathing. That kid had a whole host of tub toys in the bathroom. A large basket of them that he raided throughout the whole bathing process. He liked to funnel water from one cup to another. He had ships and ducks and dinosaurs and everything in between.

His mom ran his bath and I undressed him. Owen's happy habit of running around in the buff whenever he could, broke me of any shame of a naked kid. He danced around on the bathroom counter, excited about the whole deal. I lowered him in, feet first and he splashed around like a happy little duck for twenty minutes. I sat on the toilet and watched him, encouraging his happy play. His mom sat on the floor beside the bathtub, playing with him. We all had a grand time.

We got him out of the bath and toweled him down. He loved that too. And sure enough, the rash had faded and was nearly gone. To celebrate, we let him run around naked, the rest of the night. Good times for all!

This next story happened a month or two after the last one.

A Boo Boo.
I don't know where he got the idea to do it. I think Kelly had said that he'd heard about one kid at pre-school kicking another kid in the crotch (early experimentation with physical comedy, I guess), but Owen somehow got to thinking about that and how much it would hurt. Left alone for a bit at home, he made his way into the bathroom, got into the medicine cabinet and got a band-aid out. One of the bigger ones. Alone, he dropped his drawers and his big boy underpants and applied the band-aid to his tiny wiener and then walked into the TV room to show us all. He shuffled in, pants and underpants around his ankles, held up his shirt and announced, "Look what I did!"

At first, we didn't see it. Flesh colored band-aid on an already tiny target. We were looking at his belly and legs and his face, so he had to guide our attention a bit. "I have a boo boo on my ding a ling!"

We both went over to him. THIS, we had to see. His mom was concerned that he'd cut or hurt his wiener and she questioned him a bit about it. She was preoccupied with the possibility that he might've "slammed a door on his ding a ling". I assured her that was pretty unlikely. I'd survived a full 23 years without ever having that happen to me.

That lead to him telling her about the one kid ro-sham-boing the other kid at pre-school and she figured out that Owen was working pre-emptively. Band-aiding the body part that he thought was in for a kicking at pre-school. We all got a little chuckle at that.

The trouble didn't start until his mom went to remove his band-aid. You know what it feels like when you try to pull free a new band-aid from any body part, well, take that pain and put it on your most sensitive part. Oh yeah, he was crying immediately and his mom was starting to freak out.

"What if I have to cut it off?" she asked.

"Good lord, don't do that!" I exclaimed. Owen was a poor candidate for a second circumcision. "Let's give him a bath! You know what happens to band-aids in the shower, right? They come right off. Same principle. Owen, you want a bath?"

Boy, did he! He happily shuffled off to the bathroom, ahead of us, removing his t-shirt as he went along. We tailed along behind him, ready for the watershow.

Same thing as before. The water. The splashing. The toys. And me on the toilet, watching the show, mom kneeling beside him, splashing along with him. Owen didn't even noticed when she fished the band-aid out of the water, showed it to me and tossed it into the trash. He'd had no idea when it came off. Too busy exploring the scientific principles of water funneled onto a floating toy astronaut.

I was a hero for that suggestion. Owen had a happy bathtime and fell asleep early, that night. His mom was spared a screaming, horrible band-aid removal. Later, she kissed me and said, "My smart boyfriend. You saved the day. You'll make a great dad, someday."

Who knows? Maybe I will, someday. But as I get older, I think that's less and less likely to happen. Somedays that's fine. Other days, it feels like a real loss. And who is to say that I would've made a good dad. Apparently, my solution to every parenting problem is, "Put the boy in the bath." Sooner or later, that solution would've proved inadequate.

Cheers,
Mr.B

I am a Helper Monkey.

Today, I taught my boss how to open a jpeg in PAINT and use the tools there to edit the photos. (Something that I've been doing for folks in this office for a while now.)

I taught him how to clone items and repeat them, to edit out undesirable elements.

I taught him how to sample a color and use it to edit out lines of undesirable elements.

I taught him how to use the spraypaint feature to mock up the irregular pixelization of colors.

I taught him how to clone irregular shapes of grass to avoid showing the squared off edges of your cloned materials.

And I taught him how to paste something and not show the unwanted areas of the cloned item.


I think it was one of the first times in the three years that I've been here that he recognized that I had a very handy skill that was actually useful to the office.

I haven't seen him this impressed since he discovered that I can accurately forge signatures.

Anyways, I was a good helper monkey today.
And I taught my boss something new.
Which made it a very good day.

Our Little Cocktail Party.

BEFORE WE GET STARTED: THIS ENTRY IS CHOCK-FUL OF LINKY GOODNESS TO OTHER BLOGS AND WEBSITES. IF ONE OF THEM IS YOURS AND YOU DON'T WANT A LINK TO BE LISTED, PLEASE MENTION THAT IN THE COMMENTS SECTION BELOW AND I'LL CORRECT IT. I'VE TRIED TO ONLY LIST LINKS THAT I KNOW ARE OKAY TO PASS ON, BUT I MIGHT'VE ACCIDENTALLY INCLUDED SOMETHING I SHOULDN'T HAVE. IF THAT HAPPENED, LEMME KNOW AND I'll SET IT RIGHT.

So, yesterday I had my first visitor to "word" forwarded from Chicago Bloggers.com.

I thought I'd mark the occasion by doing a little introspection about the other visitors to my blog, today. I was SO excited to get listed on CB. I think it's amusing that I didn't get a visitor from it, until a week or so later. Maybe that site doesn't get a whole lot of traffic, after all.

Regardless, Welcome, Visitor from Chicago Bloggers.com. I hope you found something amusing/ interesting/ or otherwise worthy of a re-visit, in my blog.

And now some info about the rest of you...

Did you know, that on average, this blog gets hit between 30 - 50 hits a day?
Or that we get 60+ page views a day?

And some visitors tend to come back over and over again. (Which makes me want to keep coming up with new material, to give them something to look at.) Typically, a visitor scans the first page and doesn't dig much deeper into the sight. Which is no surprise, considering all the words that regularly get dumped on this front page. (I get all of this info from my sight tracker. It tells me when you guys are around and what city you're in, but not who you are. So, don't feel too spied upon.)

I get loads of activity on the weekdays. But this joint is dead on the weekends. No surprise there. We're all to busy with our weekend lives to read each others blogs all weekend long.

I get regular visits from Pompano Beach FL, Plano TX., and I have two or three visitors from Canada. (I assume they're friends of my good friend, Chantale, who offers me up some linky goodness at her blog, Drove to Chicago. Which you can visit, by clicking here. Chantale is a big fan of the Windy City and that blog is her journal of the year that she's spending, saving and prepping for a permanent move here. She has a lovely way of posting interesting or amusing photos. And her emo blog is worth noting, too. But I'll let you find your way there, on your own.)

I get visits from my friend Corey, in KY. My roommate peeks in from time to time. (Probably to see if I'm bitching about him. - sometimes I do.) My old friend from high school, Bran, also checks in from time to time. Whenever I get caught up in an Anti-Bluegrass State funk, she reminds me that there are good people there, after all. (Speaking of which, kudos to my homestate for electing their first Democratic governor in years. I call that progress. Even though I know my entire family is probably very upset by it.) Another old friend from college, Ernie Chen, checks this blog from time to time. He's a filmmaker in his home country of Malaysia. I like to think that this blog has an International following. ("We're very big in Canada and Malaysia!")

A little closer to home, I get visits from my good friends Crescent and Chip and Hendo and Megan and Mr.Gilmore and the gorgeous gals of the Belmont Burlesque Review. (I know because they either comment on the blog or mention something that they saw here, when I see them.) Up North, another old friend, Elsie, checks in periodically.(She was the person who twisted Hendo up into such knots in the Comments section of the T-Shirt contest. 259 Comments between the two of them! Well done, Elsie!) Occasionally, I see that Matt and Ian have dropped by. They like to use the links from their own fine websites to visit mine. (And they'll be happy to know that the "Fight Communism" poster is flying, large and in charge, in my office.) By and Large, the majority of my visitors are here in the Chicago area.

Also, my good friend Madge Hixx visits on occasion. (From her, I learned the value of a Daily posting. An active blog is a happy blog.) Madge posted a link to this blog on her own blog, Chicago Stories, which attracted the interest of my new Internet buddy, Morris. (Today, Morris offered up a very nice mention of this blog on her own, Power Love. That made my day!) Morris is new to my blog and I'm glad to have her here.

My lovely, new girlfriendy person comes here too. I might not have mentioned it, but I've been talking about her for months now (without actually naming her). Not all of it has been gumdrops and rainbows. Sometimes I got very frustrated with her. But all of that seems to irrelevant, considering how happy she makes me, now. (Somewhere in this paragraph is a clue to deciphering which blog entries were about her. I mention it, in case you're one of those puzzle solving types.)

Beyond my friends and regular visitors, I also get frequent random hits by folks doing Google searches for all sorts of odd things. I regularly get hits from people researching the following topics (in the order of most popular searches to least)...

-"I got Wood" t-shirt from Shaun of the Dead.
-Michelle LaMour and Burlesque.
-"Air Kentucky" t-shirts and other memorabilia.
-"Life Aquatic" t-shirts.
-Borat news articles and the pic in his green, thong, bikini.
-fucking
-Some British person who posts or performs as Mr.B.
-Lately, people have come here for "mouse hunting tips"

And occasionally, I find a friend doing a vanity search on themselves that leads them to some mention in here. (You know who you are. Wink Wink!)

The only people that will never know about the blog are my actual family members. I honestly don't think that I could come here and post as freely and as honestly, if my parents or family were constantly peeking in. They're all pretty uptight conservatives and I'm not ready for them to know me this well. Maybe someday. But probably not.

And there's this one guy in town who pretty regularly harasses me on the Improv message boards. I'd kinda like to keep HIM out of my blog for a while, too. He used to read my last blog and then quote it online, claiming my anecdotes for himself. That always used to infuriate me.

I think that it's good for me to take stock and recognize and thank the people that visit my blog, each day. This isn't meant to be a private diary. I intend for you to come here and enjoy this. It's a little party, that you might not have realized that other people were attending, too.

I see it as a collaborative process. You have some control over what happens here, by what you say in comments below or in real-life meetings. Without you guys coming here regularly, I am just a very quiet voice, screaming into the empty void and hearing nothing in return. I am very glad that you're all here. (Even you, Plano TX and Pompano Beach, FL!)

Listen, grab a cocktail from the front bar, throw your coats on the bed and gather around the organ for a nice Sing-A-Long. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Two Lost Tales from SETC:

In the Fall of 1996, I traveled to my hometown of Louisville, KY. to participate in the South Eastern Theater Conference (or SETC). Basically, SETC was a cattle-call for actors and theater technicians. You went there to audition for summer-stock acting gigs or, if you were a technician, to show off your portfolio and get summer theater work. It was there, at that convention, that these two stories took place.

I never took the SETC conferences very seriously. Honestly, the pressure of the whole process (being 1 actor out of 3000+ that several hundred companies would look at in two days) was just too much for me to process. And because I was a bit of a prick with my teachers, they weren't exactly jumping at the opportunity to help me prep for the audition. Consequently, I went along to these conventions, in sort of a muddy, shock-induced haze. My monologues were always a bit sloppy. And my songs were only tentatively learned. It's no wonder that I was only called back by the company that a friend of mine worked at. I was never a very good auditionee.

Once I got the audition portion of the weekend out of the way, I always enjoyed the rest of the convention much more. I attended classes on physical movement, clowning techniques, puppetry, IMPROV, etc. I hung out with friends in strange bars. I smoked weed on a Miami balcony and lazily argued about what color the laser adorned skyscraper across from us was going to turn. Also in Miami, I swam in the ocean. In both cities, I hit on girls. I drank with friends. Once, I hid from an ex-girlfriend for three days in a hotel room. (I ate a lot of room service, that weekend.)

Seeking Out Alternative Amusements.
One of my favorite thing to do at the conferences was to hang out in the "warm up" room. The convention always supplied a "warm up" room for the auditionees to work out their monologues, run vocal warm-ups and stretch out physically. Warming up auditionees are so loud that they had to be sequestered away from the audition rooms and from the other hotel guests. You would hear all manner of beeps, whistles, falsettos, hums, shrieks and discordant melodies coming from the warm-up rooms. And if you actually entered them, you'd be surrounded by absolute lunatics. People would be sprawled out on the floor, pushing against walls, bent over chairs, doing jumping jacks, running in place, or doing yoga in every available corner of the room. And on each and every face, would be a look of polished, serious concentration as their mouths pumped forth the previously prepared monologues. It was like a slow, selfish, orgy for crazy people. Only nobody got off.

I liked to go into these madhouses and begin fucking with people.

I would take up a place in the room with these lunatics and stretch out, just like they were and then I would do the most outlandish, crazy physical movements that I could think of. I would lay on the floor and convulse. I would "silly walk" around my area, kicking my legs up as high as I could. I would pinwheel my arms and dance gaily about the room (lots of high kicks). I would get on my hands and knees and root around like a pig (with the appropriate amount of squeeling and oinking). Once, I very clearly had sex with an invisible woman, complete with moaning and gasping for air.

In addition to my "Physical Warm Ups", I would also run my monologues for them. Sometimes, it was a blur of nonsensical noise and random quotes in odd voices. I would be a robot. Then a baby. Then Jesus. Then Batman. I would do scenes from movies and impressions of comedians. I would recite "The Canterbury Tales" in olde English. I would weep and curse and stamp my feet and declare things. Sometimes, I would just do the Pledge of Allegiance, but fuck it up and curse myself for getting it wrong. Friends of mine would stop by and peek in at me, harassing the other auditionees and move on, laughing.

Nobody ever noticed.

All of the other actors were so absorbed in their "processes", that they wouldn't bat an eye at the man who fought off spiders that only he could see. I never got offered assistance. I never got called on my bullshit. I guess actors have a pretty wide tolerance for the insanity of the "warm up" process.

At the end of these "sessions" with the warm up actors, I would always bow and thank them for their time, before exiting. They might not've noticed that they were my audience, but they were. So, it was only appropriate that I would thank them for their time.

The Bathroom Confessionals.
Another indication of the Neurosis on Parade that was the SETC conferences, was the unique experiences of entering the various mens rooms in the hotel. As soon as you would walk into the bathroom, you'd notice that something was amiss. In addition to the usual bathroom sounds of running water and soft background music, you'd hear the quiet murmur of lowered voices coming from all of the closed stalls. Urgent, angry and stilted voices quietly confessing Dark Deeds in faux British dialects and hammy New Jersey accents. The men's room stalls were all occupied by nervous actors, running through their monologues.

I swear to you, I was finishing my actual business in one of the stalls, when I heard a grown man weeping in the stall next to me. In a child-like voice, I very clearly heard him say, "You never loved me, mother," in the weakest, most pathetic voice. I looked down and confirmed that his pants and underwear down. Now, THAT'S commitment to the artform.

Cheers,
Mr.B

Mousicide!

Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a new development in the quiet Me vs Mouse wars that have been silently raging in my bedroom since Thursday of last week. I'm finally ready to report that someone has scored in this particular match!

Mouse 0
Man 1

That's right! The lethal combination of the snap-trap and a generous dollop of peanut butter was too much for the little guy to resist and he was spring-loaded, snap-trapped right into oblivion! I am pleased to report that it didn't look like he suffered too much when meeting his final fate. His little mousy eyes were gently closed and he was pinned to the board, all of his mousy innards were still inside. I almost saw a smile on his tiny face and his nose was smeared with the sensual, sensual peanut butter.

A short memorial service was performed immediately for the tiny soul. Needle-nose pliers were used to pick up the trap and the body (in case there was still any kick left in the little bastard) and his remains were interred in the Kitchen TrashBin, where they joined an empty Domino's pizza box, two old copies of Entertainment Weekly, an empty milk jug and a box of Cranberry Almond Crunch cereal that was left by a previous tenant. (Estimated age of the box: 2 1/2 years). A short prayer (of victory) was offered and there was much pumping of fists and evil, villainous laughing was enjoyed by all. A refreshment of milk and some cookies were served shortly thereafter.

I maintain that this mouse was a solo act. I only saw him once or twice and when I did, he seemed as terrified by his new surroundings as I was annoyed by his presence. I think that he was working alone, but just to make sure, I've left the remaining traps baited and placed in the former mouse's preferred traffic pattern. Time will tell, on this one, folks. If I produce another mouse corpse within this next week or so, then I'll need to investigate professional vermin extinction assistance.

Until then, I maintain that the mouse incursion has been effectively repelled and Man wins this battle, undeniably.

Long Live the Man.
Death to the Mouse.
Peanut Butter is good!
Snap Traps are great!

My Clever Girl.

Over breakfast, at Orange, on Saturday, my girlfriend said this to me...

"Of course, I love to visit my parents at home. My mom loves to cook. We have really good lunches and I enjoy breaking the fast with her..."

That's right, boys. My girl isn't afraid to bust out the etymological precedent to the word, "breakfast" in a casual conversation. Sorry fellas, I already called "Dibs" on this gal.

She's a smart girl. And she's casual about it. I'm sure that it was no big deal, to slip that little turn of phrase into the conversation. But I caught it and appreciated it. Then. And now.

She's a very clever girl. I wouldn't have her any other way.
Mr.B

The Weekend Round-Up!

Some things happened this weekend. Here's a tidy recap of some of them.

BORAT
- Saw BORAT on Saturday with my girl. I just suggested that we go, on a whim and she was game for it. One quick taxi ride later, we had tickets for the 2pm showing. We killed time in the local bookstore, where one overzealous clerk cornered me in the "Local Interest" section and proceeded to pull books and hand them to me for perusal. I hadn't touched base with my girl, before getting pidgeon-holed by the clerk. After she left to go pimp books on someone else, I discretely snuck around the escalator and went up looking for my girl. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the clerk standing back at her post, giving me the stink-eye for not carrying a "Chicago Architecture" book with me.
The movie was at least twice as good as I thought it would be. I ended up laughing so hard at some of the horrible things that happen in there, that I was crying. Same thing with my girl. Periodically, she would have to cover her mouth, she was laughing so hard.
She's awfully cute in her speed-lined glasses.
Anyways, go see that movie. If you need to, wait until this weekend. It's opening up on 2,500 more screens, now that the studio is aware that it has a HUGE hit on it's hands. I think I'll see it again, this weekend.

BOYFRIENDED/ GIRLFRIENDED
Speaking of the girl, she looked over at me on Friday night, after we spooned and said that I am cleared to call her "my girlfriend" now. I kissed her and thanked her. We're taking things slowly, which is fine with me. It's nice to see that we are actually moving forward though. I like calling her "my girlfriend" and I suppose that means that she calls me her "boyfriend". I like the hint of possession that those terms infer. I like being possessed, just a little bit.

I'm also starting to figure out some of her moves and motivations. I don't want to elaborate, though. She checks this blog, from time to time. And a fella has got to maintain some of his mysteries. Suffice it to say, we're gelling more smoothly, these days. We are getting to know each other, better, as time progresses.

I adore her.

MOUSE UPDATE
I remain convinced that our mousey visitor is still a bachelor. Since my initial sighting on Thursday night, I've only seen him once more. And that was to quickly dart out from the radiator and then to go back again.
I think that he's residing in the wall around the radiator.
I laid traps for him, on both sides of the radiator. I've baited them with peanut butter. (And one trap that is in his travel path, that ISN'T baited, thinking that he might run right over in, trapping himself.
On Sunday morning, while I was in my office, he set off the unbaited trap, but it didn't catch him. I don't know if that means that he's going to stay away, now that he knows that there are traps or what, but I've reset the traps and they're waiting for him. I hope to produce a mouse carcass, some time soon.
My girlfriend says that she's not coming over until I do.
(goddammit).

ROUND AND ROUND WITH JOE.
I dunno why, but Joe was a little hard to be around, this weekend. He wasn't necessarily a shithead, but he did pull a lot of little, annoying stunts that sort of got on my nerves. Want some examples of what I'm talking about?
- Some time last week, Joe drank so much at a Gwar show, that he A.) came home and threw up in the bathroom (which he denied later and then has refused to clean up) and B.) cooked a 4 am morning meal with my food. (Something that we've agreed not to do.) The dishes from that meal are still in the sink. (Something else that we've agreed not to do.)
-Joe says that he's terrified of rats and mice, so the mouse problem is entirely mine to deal with. When I've mentioned to him that he needs to keep the kitchen clean (so as not to attract them) and tidy his room up (so as to provide them with less places to hide), he's acted petulant and hurt. As if I'm calling him a bad person or judging him for the way that he chooses to live. He's grudgingly assured me that he'll take care of both of them. But as I write this, the dishes are still in the sink and his room is still a Six Flags: Greater Chicago for mice and other rodentia.
-On Sunday morning, Joe walked into my office to sheepishly confess that he'd eaten some more of my food. Despite the fact that he'd done grocery shopping, two days before. I guess my food looked better to him. He promised to replace it and I didn't push the issue, but it was still annoying. The rules that we maintain, to keep a civilized house are being tested for no good reason. And it's really annoying me.
-Additionally, I've made several efforts lately to involve Joe in social events outside of the apartment. I tried to get him to come to the bar with me (he refused, because his wrassling was on) and last night I tried to get him to come see Borat with me (he refused, because he was watching football with another guy friend.) I've tried to get him to come to the Burlesque show and go drinking with us, afterwards. He's refused that, too.
Joe has complained in the past that he doesn't hang out with his roommates and that he didn't feel comfortable being with them, outside of the apartment. I don't know if Brad and Chris made this much effort to include him, but if they did and he shut them down as much as he has shut me down, I bet they quit inviting him out. That's what I want to do. Joe doesn't seem to WANT to be included. And that's annoying, too.

Living with a roommate this week has been tough. I've spent some time hiding in my room, watching tv and letting Joe have his run of the living room.

AN EARLY VISIT FROM SANTA CLAUS...
Yesterday, I booked a ticket for a quick flight home to Louisville to play The Big Man for a church event, again. I fly in to KY on a Friday evening. I visit the tykes the next day at noon and then fly out at 5pm, back to Chicago. In return for the 24 hour visit to the KY, I get miles for my southwest acct., dinner and breakfast with my mom, the thrill of bringing my interpretation of Santa to about a hundred low-income kids. The time that they get with me is the most that these kids get with ANY Santa. I love the one on one time and the tour of the holiday decorations that they've made. And I get a TON of pictures taken with the kids. Additionally, the people at this church, love my Santa so much, that they agree to fly me out each year to make an appearance. And there's a certain amount of pride that comes with being that GOOD of a Santa. That they're interested in booking me, each year. So, that's nice.
Saturday, after the gig, I have to fly back to Chicago, get unpacked, rest a bit and then go perform the Belmont Burlesque Review. From Santa to Cousin Joe in less than a day. Crazy times.

Speaking of the BBR, you probably should check out this video. It's a REALLY wonderful commercial for our show, featuring footage shot by Fuzzy and edited by Ms. Pixy. (And it's mostly workplace safe, featuring ladies in their skivvies, but not nude.) It's A LOT of fun!
Do check it out, won't you?




FEATURING INTERNATIONAL STINGER AS BIZ-CO!
Stinger had a show on Friday night, at the Playground. As luck would have it, it was a buy-out by a Mental Health Association of Chicago. The place was PACKED with them. (All volunteers.) They had Chicago's Best pizza and an onstage bar and were really excited to be there. (Sometimes, I forget how exciting the Playground is to folks on their first visit. I'm so used to seeing it, that it doesn't phase me much, anymore.)
Stinger was first in the lineup and I had the idea that we might interview some folks from the company and get information about them and lampoon them onstage. The ladies in charge of the event LOVED the idea and they loaded me up with info. I offered it to the other two teams that were playing that night and they weren't all that interested. So, I downloaded everything that I had into Stinger and we set out to parody their company.
It was GREAT! Actual names of people at their ACTUAL company appeared. I played the Chairman of the Board and he was a lecherous drunk. Ben played their wise, but beleaguered intern, Justin. Kathy was their President, who we gave a TERRIBLE gambling problem to. During the show, I brought their ACTUAL bar into the show and stole ACTUAL wine bottles from them and sipped it quietly, backstage. At one point, was backstage, listening to Stinger have a wonderful, nuanced two person scene, while I sipped wine and ate brownies that I stole from the dessert table, too. A surreal moment, but one that I'll always remember. Drinking backstage, during a show, a benefit for the Mental Health Advocates of Chicago.
Nice!

HALLOWEENER, 2006!
Did I mention that I was an "evil version" of myself at Halloween this year?
No?
Well, look at this!


If I were a tougher dude or worked at a less conservative workplace, I would wear my facial hair like that, all the time. I think that the "trident" look works for me. That is some EVIL facial hair.

UPDATED TREK!
Finally saw the updated episodes of Star Trek; TOS and they're every bit as good as I want them to be. The footage of the ship, in space, is nothing short of lovely and the colors of the actual episodes just jump out at you. If you haven't recently, it's time to look at Star Trek with new eyes. It's a lovely future, now.

LOOKING AHEAD
-I'm looking forward to a few things this coming week.
CHARMING has a show on Wednesday. I love playing with Bob and Stacey. So patient and you can literally bring them ANYTHING onstage and it'll be worked with. And worked with, very well.
-Sometime this week, I want to meet up with my girlfriend and Smooch Her Dang-Old Face Off. (Looking forward to that.)
-No shows all weekend long, I am looking forward to the rest time, at home. Maybe the girl and I can begin watching Carnivale together. Assuming that I can produce a mouse carcass, some time soon.
-I still have entire seasons of Justice League Unlimited, Batman Beyond, The Flash and King of the Hill, at home to watch. (Also, Lost 2.0, which I haven't even cracked the seal on, yet.) That should fill up my evening, quite nicely.

Things are good and they look to stay this good, for a while. I sincerely hope that wherever you are, things are as good (if not better) on your side of the computer screen.

Cheers,
Mr.B